


treating him sweetly

by paper_clip



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Boy, Begging, Body Worship, CFNM, Choking, Dom Hermione Granger, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Feels, Gentle femdom, Hand Jobs, Kink Exploration, Mental Instability, Mommy Issues, Mother Complex, Naked Male Clothed Female, Neediness, Porn With kinda sorta Plot-ey-ish, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Shyness, Sub Draco Malfoy, Trust Kink, Vulnerability, gfd, i guess, like a lot of em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paper_clip/pseuds/paper_clip
Summary: “Now be a good boy and help me with the artefact,” she says gently but decisively.“You want me to... to-” his head swims at her words and he struggles to put his act together.Good boy.He swallows. Why does it have to feel so good when she calls him that? More importantly, what does it take for her to say it again?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini (mentioned)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 170





	treating him sweetly

**Author's Note:**

> Non-native English speaker so the language might be slightly weird at times. All corrections welcome :)) Enjoy!
> 
> IF you want to read this same story with other character names, do the following (couldn't imagine why tho :3):
> 
> \- only for PC/Mac, instructions for Chrome; will be slightly different for other browsers
> 
> \- right click anywhere
> 
> \- click 'Inspect'
> 
> \- click 'Sources' tab at the top
> 
> \- click 'Snippets' tab in top left corner (if it's not there, click the arrows first)
> 
> \- click 'New Snippet'
> 
> \- give it a name
> 
> \- copy n paste:  
> story = document.getElementById('main');  
> a = story.innerHTML.toString();  
> a = a.replace(/Hermione/gi, 'Ginny');  
> a = a.replace(/Granger/gi, 'Weasley');  
> a = a.replace(/Draco/gi, 'Harry');  
> a = a.replace(/Malfoy/gi, 'Potter');  
> story.innerHTML = a;
> 
> \- adjust to taste
> 
> \- right click the snippet name you typed in
> 
> \- click 'Run'
> 
> \- hopefully et voilá
> 
> I'm trying to establish a thing here, see? Now go have fun with the story, you little rascals!

**treating him sweetly**

„Did you see that French girl the other day at Lewis'? God, I want to do things to that pretty, little face of hers.“

„Her face?“ Bletchley asks in mock-shock.

„Yeah, although I'm sure you virgins wouldn't know what to do with such a delicious face anyway,“ Zabini snorts back.

„I'm sure what Bletchley really meant to say was he was rather distracted by something else than her face,“ the tallest and also the leanest of the four friends grins arrogantly.

„Watch it, Malfoy, or else I am going to have to get distracted with some of your girls one day. There will be plenty opportunity this weekend. If your constant stream of girls waiting in line for you doesn't run out before then, that is,“ Zabini snaps, jokingly.

Draco didn't bother correcting Zabini's mislead assumptions. He enjoyed these little chats with his friends in-between assignments. The were just like in the old days at Hogwarts, always taking the piss out of each other. It was one of the few things that hadn't changed much since then. And he was still good at it.

“If you fancy entertaining yourself with my leftovers... I won't stop you.”

„You could consider sharing a little, honestly,“ Pinner says, „Whatever is you—hey!“

The small woman next to him startles and comes to an abrupt halt. The heap of paperwork in her arms rustles dangerously.

„Watch were you are going, Muggle! I don't tolerate people barging against me because they can't even float some damn paper around. You f-“

He stops. The word hovering on the tip of his tongue is obvious. To anyone in the Muggle world he would have to seem like someone struggling to keep from calling the poor woman a fucking idiot. But they aren't in the muggle world, they are in fact in the Ministry of Magic and Pinner isn't some no one, swearing at some random stranger. He's the heir of an old, important wizard family. A _pure-blood_ wizard family, one might add. The phrase on his mind isn't 'fucking idiot', no, that's doesn't capture what he actually means. It's _filthy muggle_. But the unfortunate woman spoken to of course can't know all of this and hurries to apologise and rush away, eyes fixed on the floor. Pinner didn't say it after all. Oh, how things have changed after the war. Well, not all things.

“Can't believe they let them walk around here like that,” Pinner sneers, “One should think this is a serious violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, a threat to all honourable wizarding families.”

It's clear what he means by honourable. Pure-bloods. Non-blood traitors.

“Didn't you listen earlier?” Zabini replies sharply, “They are relatives of wizards, they would've known about magic anyway. They are only here for this muggle cooperation program thing.”

“Still smells foul if you ask me,” Pinner answers defensively.

They round a corner and enter the Ministry's entrance hall. Black and green tiles stretch out as far as one can see and the unnaturally bright fires along the high walls light up every now and then, producing a witch or wizard, having some business waiting in the Ministry.

They are met with familiar faces here, exchanging a quick nod or greeting with someone every few meters. They have a wide network of friends here, in the inner circles of the British wizarding communities. The Ministry is all about connections and who knows whom. If one is aware of that fact, they can use it to their advantage, a skill every Slytherin has learned inevitably throughout their time at Hogwarts.

Draco can't help but notice even more Muggles, jostling about with truly terrific amounts of paperwork in their arms. Apparently nobody had the mercy to install some sort of mailing system for them. Instead they are carrying out their memos by hand, which makes them a rather odd sight in the Ministry of Magic, where flocks of magically flying memos make your head practically swirl. Draco briefly wonders whether muggles might have invented a purely non-magical technique of distributing mail for themselves.

His train of thought is cut short when he sees _her_.

Leaning carelessly against the monument in the middle of the hall, she talks to a colleague of hers, whom he vaguely remembered as Derek. She seems aggravated. Her long curls bounce as she shakes her head angrily at the guy.

Is this about the muggles? Surely, she would have objections to the way they are treated as second-class people here. She is probably right in the middle of an insurrection against the injustices exercised by members of the Ministry.

Draco suppresses the grin that threatens to take over on his face at that thought. He doesn't particularly care for muggle rights—or the rights of the magical creatures, she and her department are so concerned about, for that matter—but as he watches her exasperated gestures, an idea appears in his mind. Zabini will make a witty comment and Pinner will probably look at him like he is alien, but that would be worth it. He knows it will please _her_. And the things—the things she does when she is pleased with him—are always worth it. His breath catches in his throat when he thinks about it, about the last time she was pleased with him. He shakes his head to get rid of the unbidden thoughts intruding on his calm mind.

 _Shut up._ he wills himself to think. _Don't let this get to you that easily. Get yourself together. You are a Malfoy, for god's sake. And she is just... just a muggleborn. Collect yourself and get it over with._

He straightens up, his face an expressionless mask as usual. Then, he picks out a muggle balancing a particularly obscene amount of memos in her hands.

“Hey muggle!”

He scolds himself internally for his own, poor choice of words. It's his upbringing that speaks out of him. He can't help it, sometimes he forgets displaying good manners applies to everyone these days, not just people with magic. Regardless, now he can be sure of having the attention of the only person in the room that counts.

The middle-aged woman spoken to turns to him, an indignant frown on her forehead. The frown of a person not used to being addressed that harshly. She might hold a high position in her normal job, might be a manager or executive of some sort. But here she is nothing, a muggle in a foreign world that doesn't welcome her in the slightest. Not that he would care, but you have to be practical about details as unimportant as blood ideology. And if today's dominant doctrine requires him to show some respect for non-magical people, so be it. He is willing to bend his morals a bit for achieving a greater aim. And that is his advantage over people like Potter, who blindly run after the first noble intuition that occurs to them.

Draco can feel the stares of his friends in his neck. They are waiting for his move, lusting for a little entertainment at the expense of some muggle. Waiting for a light laugh about the humiliation of the woman in front of him.

“That's a lot of memos you are carrying around there,” he starts weakly.

“It is indeed,” the woman says curtly, clearly still suspicious of his intentions.

Mentally summoning all the good manners he was indoctrinated with when he was young, he chooses his words more carefully this time.

“Madam, I am troubled by the support the Ministry fails to supply to its newest employees. I hope you don't suspect your invaluable work here goes unnoticed for the lack of appreciation some of my colleagues demonstrate. May I therefore offer my help in distributing these memos. It will take nothing more than a second, I can assure you.”

He fears that he might have taken it a little too far and came across as unconvincing for a second. But he seemingly made a good second impression, judging from how the woman's expression slowly turns from barely concealed irritation to impassioned agreement.

“That would be quite lovely actually, thank you dear. You see, all this back and forth wears you off all too quickly.”

Draco doesn't know how to react to the woman's unexpectedly kind words. He's never had a muggle speak to him that dearly. Frankly, he has talked to muggles only a handful of times at all. He simply nods and goes to work, sending the memos flying as delicate paper birds into every direction.

“Beautiful magic,” the woman muses.

“Er- right. If I may excuse myself now, work is waiting,” Draco replies tersely and returns to his friends, not paying the woman as much as a second glance. This doesn't have to become more than a small favour for _her_ to notice. It's not like he gives a damn about whether the woman will have to spend half of her working day delivering memos or not. He would have a whole department of muggles running laps around the Ministry, if that somehow assisted him in his schemes. Draco sighed. If things only were that easy.

Bletchley stares at him disbelievingly, before supplying a sophisticated “Uuh...?”

“What was that all about? Trying to get that employee of the month badge?” Zabini hisses a little more intelligently.

Pinner just gapes at him. For three, uncomfortable seconds he says nothing. Draco shoots the woman leaning against the monument a look. He must make certain that this wasn't all pointless. She still talks to that Derek guy but her eyes meet his for the fraction of a second and he can see it—her slight, sheepish smile, as if to tell him— _You did so well. You always want to be a good boy for me don't you?_ Strange feelings well up in his chest and he quickly averts his gaze. Just in time to see Pinner's face contort into a cruel, lopsided smirk.

“Ooh Malfoy, I know what you were doing there. Are you really that desperate? I didn't take you for the committed type. It must be real bad if you start acting as though you plan to become the next Mother Teresa.”

“What are you talking about, Pinner?” Bletchley asks dumbly.

“Oh, I'm talking about Malfoy trying to get laid. Trying to get laid by Granger, to be specific.”

“ _Hermione_ Granger?” Bletchley echoes stunned.

“How many Grangers do you know, Bletchley? _Of course_ Hermione Granger.”

“You can't be serious.” Zabini pokes Draco into the side with his elbow. “If that's true I will have to rethink my plan of getting distracted with your girl for a revenge very thoroughly.” Zabini looks slightly disgusted, but his tone is back to playful. He recovered from that revelation the quickest out of all of them, including Draco.

“You better,” Draco retorts, not making the effort of correcting them for the second time today.

_They think I have not yet succeeded in getting into Granger's knickers. That I am doing this to impress her somehow and get her attention._

His mind swirls.

_Perfect. This is perfect. Now I don't have to worry about them so much. They are going to think this is me having a thing for a stubborn yet pretty Gryffindor girl. Which is, technically, true. I couldn't have planned it better. I just don't know for how long they will let it slip before digging deeper._

With fresh confidence he paces through the hall along his friends, joining in on their banter and snickering at a stupid joke Bletchley made.

  
  


;

  
  


“This is a serious topic,” de Piek announces, “Other wizarding communities don't appreciate ignorance for their traditions and festivities. Even less so than the British community. Special attention should be paid in countries pertaining to the Far East as well as certain African communities as can be seen on this map.”

De Piek conjures a giant map for the whole room of trainees to see.

“As I said, those communities, for instance here in Botwana and here, have a truly imposing loyalty toward...”

“Can't believe I left Hogwarts for this,” Zabini groans lowly as de Piek proceeds to explain the magical traditions of African countries in great detail. “They might as well hire Binns for these long-ass lectures. That tosser at least had a rhythm of speech that was charmingly sleep-inducing.”

“You sure your regular sleeping sessions in History of Magic weren't thanks to your preferred late night activities with Nott?” Draco teases.

Zabini's cheeks assume a bright red.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he whispers not very convincingly.

He reacts like that every single time somebody brings up Nott. Draco finds it rather amusing, although he doesn't actually know what was going on between Nott and his best friend in last year. Pansy dropped some hints, however. That girl always knew too much somehow. It itches him under his fingernails to finally figure out what exactly Zabini is trying to hide from him.

“Oh, come on. Admit it already!” he says a little too loud.

“Mr Malfoy!” de Piek's sharp voice snaps. “Would you possess the maturity not to interrupt lectures with your unbidden remarks? This isn't school anymore. I believed I wouldn't have to remind you of that. Now go and bring the map of magical Asia, it is to be found in archive F-13 if I remember correctly.”

“Of course, Mr de Piek,” Draco snarls in his usual manner and leaves the lecture room after exchanging an annoyed look with Zabini.

The Ministry's halls are rather empty now. Lunch time is over and most employees are busy in their cubicles and offices. Draco looses no time and enters the lift. “Fouth floor,” he says loudly and the lift rattles to get moving. When he exits the lift, he detects her immediately. Granger is bracing herself against the wall next to her with one hand, while frowning at a big, vase-shaped thing, wrapped up in a rug. When she sees him, her expression smoothens and she smiles.

“Malfoy! Perfect timing. I was just trying to get this damn thing to the Department of Mysteries. You see, I can't touch it with magic, it's very sensitive to that.”

He comes to a halt next to her.

“And that concerns me exactly how?” he deploys his usual tactic of tentative disinterest.

“Well, I presumed you would probably like to help me. It's a bit much for me to carry alone up to the ninth floor, don't you think?”

She cast him another of her innocent smiles. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. Surely she wouldn't want him to carry that thing _manually_ , would she? Whether it pleased Granger or not—he was a Malfoy, goddamn. He couldn't be seen walking around dragging some giant vase to and fro, regardless of its magical properties. There are spells for that!

“What is it?” he asks instead curiously.

“It's.. it's an artefact. Pretty old. And powerful. That's about all I can tell you about it, I fear. You know how the Mystery Department works... it's all pretty confidential.”

If anything she managed to spike his curiosity even more with that explanation.

“You could make an exception,” he smirks with the confidence of a Slytherin.

 _A Slytherin who wasn't shown his place often enough_ , she thinks.

He steps closer to her until their bodies nearly touch. Hermione has to look up to him as he is a good bit taller than her.

“Yeah?” she huffs, “And why would I?”

“Because it was I who asked,” he crooned.

Normally, his arrogance would make her roll her eyes into the back of her head. Normally, his unreflecting self-centredness and superior demeanour would annoy her to no end. But not today. Today, he can behave as Slytherin, and as pure-blood, and as _Malfoy_ as he wants, because later she will have him all to her—and then he will reap the fruit of his actions. Her body heats up deliciously at that thought. His grey eyes lock with her brown ones.

 _Let's teach him some manners_.

She leans up and kissed him firmly. His eyes widen before closing quickly. His lips open instantly and his hands shoot up to lay on her waist. Their tongues meet and he assumes a slow pace, meeting her fever with tenderness.

_So predictable._

It makes her heart go weak for a second. The way he melts at her command, shedding all of his guards without meaning to, makes it difficult for Hermione not to indulge him. His reactions tell her all she needs to know. She loosens from his embrace and watches his eyes open, having lost their imperviousness and gained a certain vulnerability.

“Now be a good boy and help me with the artefact,” she says gently but decisively.

“You want me to... to-” his head swims at her words and he struggles to put his act together.

_Good boy._

He swallows. Why does it have to feel so good when she calls him that? More importantly, what does it take for her to say it again?

_Merlin, why am I like this?_

“To carry it, Malfoy, well observed.”

He eventually seems to recall his position towards the whole affair when he hears his name.

“Can't you order somebody else to do your labour? I am busy. I am certain you can convince some of the less acclaimed employees in your department to carry your junk. Wouldn't they just love to kiss the feet of the _famous_ Hermione Granger?”

He draws out the 'famous' emphasising his point quite nicely. Hermione also doesn't miss the slight distaste with which he regards her department. As if work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is somehow lower than that in the other departments.

Draco lowers his voice as some people approach them.

“Just let one of them do the work.” He jerked his head in the approximate direction of the passer-bys and a smug grin played with the corner of his mouth. “Isn't this the work suited best for-”

He let his unaccomplished sentence settle in the silence between them. Fury flared in Hermione's eyes as she realised the implied meaning of the sentence. _Muggles_ is the word hanging in the air between them heavily like a malicious curse. Her face inches impossibly closer to his without their noses touching. Draco doesn't as much as wince at her sudden intensity.

“That was very nice, what you did in the entrance hall earlier,” she says sweetly, while her voice drips with rage. “I was thinking of acknowledging your goodness later, when it's just the two of us. How does that sound to you? Do you want that?” she queries, not waiting for an answer. “Now don't ruin it by doing something stupid.”

A pleasant shiver runs through his body, aching with anticipation of her proposition. He wants that. He wants to find out how precisely she would be _acknowledging his goodness_. Would it be as good as the last time? Conflicting feelings well up in him as the pictures of last Friday come back to him. He knows he shouldn't feel that way. Every fibre of his heritage fights against it. But _why_ on earth did it feel so good?

He has to make a calculated decision quickly so he does what he was taught to do in such a situation: weighing the pros and cons—preferably, in such a situation, at lightning speed. On the one hand, there is not much that would justify him carrying an old, heavy lump by hand, while wearing a thousand gallon robe, specifically tailored for him personally. He doesn't worry as much about the money as about the image it would make. It is not becoming for a man of his reputation, nor for a man of his status to be doing anything by hand, let alone hard, manual work. On the other hand, Granger made fairly clear, that she will not tolerate disobedience in this matter. Moreover, he doesn't want to disappoint her. He knows that she will like it and just _how much_ she will like it. Later, when they are all alone at her place.

He feels like the decision was determined before he even began with his mental reasoning.

“Fine Granger. I will help you,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“Wonderful,” she chirps as though nothing happened. She quickly steps in when he turns to pick up the enveloped artefact. “Wait, we can carry it together. I wouldn't want you to hurt your back.”

He can discern the honest worry in her voice and it drives him mad. In more than one way. That comment is just so _Granger_ , ever the perfect, righteous prefect she was back at Hogwarts.

“I'm fine Granger, thank you.”

He lifts up the curious thing and immediately regrets his words. This artefact thing is _heavy_. But it's too late to alter that, at least while keeping his pride in place. A Malfoy stands by his words.

Hermione apparently chooses to interpret it as him being a gentleman rather than picking the more accurate term—a stubborn idiot.

“Excellent, shall we?”

“That would be marvellous,” Draco manages to press out and she laughs light-heartedly.

As they make their way to the lift she begins the conversation anew.

“Why aren't you at your diplomacy programme right now? De Piek is keeping you busy quite reliably, I trust?”

“Yeah, I was actually on my way to archive F-13. De Piek sent me to search for some map of Magical Asia.”

“Strange. One would think a person of his rank had the presence of mind to use a spell instead of a trainee for tasks like that,” Hermione frowns.

“Exactly my thoughts. Though, I have to admit, in light of his tendency to temperament his choice to get me out of eyesight may probably be warranted. For the sake of his peace of mind, that is.”

Hermione has to laugh at that. Working amongst the lower ranks of the Ministry isn't as intellectually exciting as she first assumed it was and Draco's sharp eloquence is a delighting diversion from her dull day-to-day conversations here.

 _That's what has made him sign up for that trainee programme_ , she thinks. _It may be another few years of school, but when you are finished, you play in the higher leagues instantly. No boring hussle to climb the career ladder as the average person has to endure. As I have planned for my future._

“How noble of you to relieve him of the strain of your presence. You truly are such a considerate student,” Hermione teases, but drops it when a thought occurs to her. “I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time. De Piek and the whole class will be waiting for you.”

“No worries about that. He will understand that I had to help a colleague.”

They arrive at the lift and Draco becomes painfully aware of the lump in his arms again. He inwardly prays to god not to meet any familiar faces. The lift doors slide open and multiple people exit. He recognises none of them. But when his gaze travels further into the lift, his hope is smashed like a cockroach under a boot. Edmonds, an old friend of his father is standing there, avidly talking to a short witch. Desperately clutching to the thought that maybe Edmonds won't notice him, Draco follows Hermione inside. On their journey, all the way up to the ninth floor, he silently curses himself for his stupidity. Here he stands, next to Hermione bloody Granger, as nothing more than her personal drudge. Carrying her rag-clad lump. Like a fucking muggle. If Zabini would see him or Pinner or his father would somehow hear of this... He doesn't follow that thought any further. Luckily Granger doesn't try to make conversation in the stuffed lift. Somehow he survives until the lift stutters another time and a female voice announces “Ninth floor. Mystery Department.”

They leave the lift and Granger promptly begins talking.

“We have to get this to S-02. A ton of magical objects are stored there for later inspection. It should be right over there,” she says and is already a few meters ahead of him.

Draco has trouble keeping up, the damn thing seemingly getting heavier by the minute. He feels his arms tremble slightly and the knuckles of his hand are becoming whiter than the bleached parchment, he has seen the new muggle employees use.

“Here we are,” Hermione beams and pushes the door to S-02 open.

Draco looses no time, but steps into the dimly lit room and sets the artefact down carefully. When he straightens up a sharp pain goes through his spine put he pays it no attention. Never showing weakness is one of the first lessons he learned from his father. Instead, he refrains to massaging the cramped fingers of his right hand casually.

Hermione immediately picks up on his trouble.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, it's nothing.”

“Sure? I could have a look at that,” she offers worriedly. “I know a little about medical charms.”

“Nobody doubts that,” Draco says half-amused because _of course_ she knows a little about medical charms. Probably more than that; she is just being humble.

“Then let me help you,” Hermione insists and reaches out for his hands.

Draco winces back.

“I'm fine. I really have to get going. Don't want to give de Piek yet another reason to kick me out of the programme before we even get past the lecture stuff.”

Before he can go on babbling, he hurries to vanish out of the room.

_That god-damned, bloody Granger. Who does she think I am? A fifteen-year-old needing her assistance in casting a bloody pain-releasing charm? I don't need her damn—What is it? Maternal instinct?—in my life. I manage quite well without that dirty muggleborn worrying about my well-being. Why did I even agree with this in the first place?_

The pictures of last Friday reappear in front of his mind's eye. A confusing sensation rumbles in his stomach and quickly spreads to his chest. It merely adds to the anger in his head and he shouts down the unwelcome voice in the corner of his mind, that told him to let Granger proceed to touch his hand and say her little charm to ease his pain.

  
  


;

  
  


“...and then Maya had the ingenuous idea to conjure a garlic cru-” Zabini interrupts himself in the middle of his story. “Look who's there,” he chirps suggestively, wriggling his eyebrows at something to their left. Or rather someone.

It's bustling with employees, who are leaving work, in the entrance hall of the Ministry but he could recognise that girl's unruly, brown curls anywhere. _Oh no_.

“Malfoy, time for a little snog with your lover,” Zabini notifies and pushes him in her direction.

“Shut up, Zabini.”

Draco's hope that he warded off his fate with that mind-bogglingly clever remark is ripped to pieces when Pinner and Bletchley suddenly join in. They push him through the dense crowd, closer and closer to where Granger is standing as she talks to the same bloke from earlier. Dustin, or Derek or whatever. He really needs to get that guy's name straight; not knowing it bugs him immensely for some reason.

“What the hell, Bletchley,” Draco growls at his friend who is standing dangerously close to Hermione and is currently making obscene movements with his hands in her direction. “Cut the crap.”

Bletchley just laughs as Pinner and Zabini jointly push Draco the last few steps in Hermione's direction. She stands directly in front of him now, he would merely have to stretch out his arm to touch her. Fortunately, however, her back is facing him until somebody barges into her rudely, pushing her to the side, and disappearing into the crowd without an apology.

Draco only has time to briefly think _Pinner, you bastard_ before Hermione stumbles into him. Her soft, curly hair brushes against his throat and chin and her shoulder bumps into his chest. _She smells good_ , he thinks dazed before coming to his senses.

“Hello Granger,” he smirks.

“M-Malfoy,” she answers surprised. “Sorry I didn't mean to-” she takes a step back.

“No problem. No damage done.”

He wants to get this over with as soon as possible. He knows Pinner and the others are watching somewhere from a safe distance, having the laugh of their lives. He can virtually sense their gazes on him.

“I'm glad,” she smiles and he almost thinks he can disappear into the crowd quickly, just like Pinner did, when her face lights up.

“This is Derek Whetherston by the way. We are working together in the Beings division.”

“Please call me Derek,” Derek smiles dumbly.

Draco nods mildly interested.

“Oh, since you are here already,” Hermione addresses him. “Would you perhaps do me a favour?”

 _Another one?_ he mentally curses.

“I've had a terrific amount of paperwork to do today and now my shoulders are stiff from sitting at my desk all day long. Can you maybe cast that muscle relaxation charm from last time again? That was sooo good,” she coaxes.

No way. Does this witch attempt to torment him? Because if yes, she is succeeding at it brilliantly. This is precisely what Pinner is waiting for. Him to do something remotely interpretable as an interest in her. Merlin, he's fucked. His friends will construe this to mean whatever they want it to. He can't even begin to imagine his horror if they would take it as a hint that there is something more than pure sexual attraction.

Hermione blinks at him innocently.

Oh, how he hates that mudblood. Thinking she can tell him what to do. She knows exactly that he has to fulfil her every wish or else everything he did already will go to waste. The memos this morning. The lump after lunch. All the weird looks and distasteful comments he received for it. The damage to his reputation. This will not. Ruin. All. His. Effort.

His blank countenance never faltering, he hums an agreement.

“Wonderful.” Hermione's smile broadens and she turns around while raising her arms to hold her hair out of the way.

Draco points his wand at the far end of her left shoulder and begins murmuring the charm lowly. Goose-flesh appears on her skin. He breathes in and her intoxicating smell lulls his brain to forget about Zabini and Bletchley and Pinner for a moment. He works his way to her neck and down her right shoulder. She visibly relaxes and lets out a contended sigh. He revels in the sound of it to the point where he feels the need to draw another one out of that sweet mouth of hers.

_Stop. This girl tells you to embarrass yourself by relaxing her dirty muggleborn shoulders in front of your best friends, knowing that this will destroy all of their left respect for you and you comply? And you fucking ENJOY is? What is wrong with you? She is manipulating you and you are too blind to see it. Any sane person could tell._

Draco's face remains completely unmoved. No one could possibly be able to tell what dark thoughts play in front of his inner eye. Behind her nice girl facade Granger is hiding her true nature. Cunning. Gryffindor, yeah sure. The brave little Gryffindor prefect, wasn't she? Head of her class when they graduated. Everyone's favourite colleague now. The heroine of the Golden Trio. The Golden Girl. _That filthy slut._

Blind fury overcomes him as he resumes with his charms calmly. She isn't worth his attention, isn't even worth the dirt on his shoes. Later, oh later, he will shove that beautiful, little face into the mattress and show her her place.

 _That's right, even mudbloods are good for one thing in the end,_ he thinks grimly.

It's the way things are supposed to be and it will feel right and as a matter of fact _be_ right. When he's at her place later today, he will know what to do just as someone might instinctively know how to treat a dog. It will be rough and satisfying and not complicated at all. He will simply be taking what she owes him and any other pureblood. She belongs to them anyway.

He imagines her presenting her perfect, round arse to him, grinding her thighs together from arousal, her soaked cunt pressed between them. He will smack her arse until it is red and he will ask her who's the one giving the commands now. She will be so wet, she will be dripping on the mattress. Yes, she will sob and writhe beneath him and beg him to allow her to take his cock into her tight cunt. And she will take that cock until she cries and screams his name like the pathetic mudblood she is.

  
  


;

  
  


The doorbell rings. Hermione jumps to her feet, a smile spreading on her face. Finally. She sat on her couch, thinking about what is about to happen, all afternoon. What she will say to him. What she will do to him. And every possible way he might take it, one more embarrassed and adorable than the last. The waiting was pure hedonism. The real thing will be paradise.

Ordering her thoughts, she struts to the door and opens it, her greeting already on the tip of her tongue. Her chance to say it passes by as a broad, muscular body presses into her almost immediately. She is pushed back into the apartment by the momentum.

“Malfoy!” she gasps surprised.

“Granger,” he growls in return before pressing her against the apartment wall roughly.

He catches her wrists in his hands and pushes them against the wall next to her head before crashing his lips into hers. He devours her in a kiss. Hermione vaguely notices the door being kicked shut as her lips move against his on instinct. She closes her eyes after getting over her initial shock and gives in to him. His tongue slides into her mouth and begins a battle of dominance with her. She gladly accepts the challenge, a burst of feelings welling up in her. She feels the passion burn between them and wants to loose herself in it, catch fire and burn with it. His lips are amazingly soft against hers, yet he kisses her so fiercely, she doesn't know up and down anymore. She wrenches at his grip on her wrists, wanting to pull him closer, to feel his strong frame in her arms, to run her hands through his hair. But instead of letting go, he tightens his grip and shoves her backwards even more.

Hermione gives off a frustrated groan. He breaks the kiss, but remains the fraction of an inch away, and chuckles at that. _Chuckles._ She can feel the corners of his mouth tilt upwards and hot air hits her lips and intrudes into her open mouth.

_Fucking bastard. This isn't funny._

She is practically fuming mentally, while panting for air, but only getting a taste of Draco's delicious breath. It smells like mint and green apples and a faint hint of Gin. Her head is spinning. She wants to slap him square in the face for his audacity to laugh at her like that. Did he forget his place? Didn't seem too fond to escape it last time. Last _Friday_. But at the same time his smell and his closeness is so incredibly intoxicating. She opens her eyes to find his, looking down at her condescendingly. How can those endless, grey eyes be so cruel at the same time? She can feel his smile broadening even more against her skin as he sees the indignant expression on her face. Oh, this bugger enjoys annoying her! He will bloody get it later, when she is in charge. Screw her plans. Screw rewarding, this stubborn boy is begging for a punishment. She doesn't get to follow her alluring ideas much further. Before she has time to formulate any coherent thought, Draco closes the tiny gap between their mouths again. He picks up exactly where he left off, with the same intensity, the same fever in his movements. Tongue clashes with tongue and her anger fades away like leaves on a simmering draught of the living death. He kisses her relentlessly. She can barely keep up with the aggressive pace he dictates. She wants to surrender into him completely. Draco's toned body presses against her and she clenches her hands, still in place above her head, into fists. She refrains herself from moaning thinking about this delectable body, underneath all those bothersome robes and clothes he is wearing. She wants to see it and taste it and rub herself against it, but she refrains from doing that as well. This is not her part to play. _She_ isn't usually the needy one in this relationship. As he takes the lead in the kiss, she cannot help but wonder whether there is something other than her tongue he is battling against.

 _What is it, he is fighting down with his dominance so desperately?_ the little, nagging voice in her head asks. _Is it that he doesn't want to do this my way anymore? Did he change his mind? Why would he? He seemed to love it last time... More than love it. It was as if he needed it. Like air to breathe he needed me to touch him. Not the other way round. Not like this. Assertive and wild and... predatory. That's not what I planned for tonight._

“Malfoy,” she murmurs into his soft lips.

They stay on hers insistently. It's not like she wants to part from them. But it's part of the game. She will wait now and have him back ten times better in a few minutes, she tells herself.

“Malfoy,” she demands louder. He doesn't react. Doesn't move a bit. Just keeps her pressed up against the wall with her hands pinned above her head. Smothering her underneath his forceful kisses.

“Malfoy!” she snaps angrily.

Finally, he pulls away. She looks into glazed eyes. Unfocused, as if staring right through her at something far in the distance. She watches the expression vanish as fast as it came. The only thing remaining is that insufferable smirk, he seems to sport half of his whole damn time on earth.

“What got your knickers in a twist, Granger?” he utters the matching words to the smirk he put on. He feigns contemplation for a second, then says “Oh right, that would be me.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. This is disappointing on more levels than she can count. It all reminds her of their time at Hogwarts. Of the Malfoy she knew back then and the stories she heard back then about how he treated his female conquests. Conquests was the right word for it, Hermione wasn't so naïve as to believe he had feelings for any of the pretty girls in his bed. She really thought he was different now. That she brought another side of him to light. And now, this should all have been an illusion? All at once she can't take his unbelievable behaviour anymore.

“Take your hands off,” she snaps.

He hesitates for a moment, his face never betraying him. He is too skilled at hiding himself behind it for that. Hermione wonders. Is this what surprise looks like on him?

_Shut it, don't see something that isn't there. He is probably just pondering upon his next witty remark._

As if to prove her point, his eyes suddenly pierce hers, the glint of a snake, circling its prey flaring in them.

“As you wish.”

His grip on her wrists loosens and she yanks them free. Her next impulse is to push him away and ask what the flying Anaximander he was thinking. But she pauses when his graceful hands travel down her arms, over her shoulders and rest on her neck gingerly. Maybe he will apologise in just a second and tell her how stupid this was. Maybe this doesn't have to play out as badly as she assumed. She doesn't want it to. She likes what they have. Way too much.

His thumbs brush against her jaw in an absent-minded manner. Hope, like deep red Amortentia, poisons her clear thinking. Then, Draco blinks, perplexed. He seems to recall something. The fluttering butterflies in Hermione's chest die a naïve death as the moment fleets and his hands travel further down. She knows where they are headed. His hands reach their destination and cup her breasts through the thick fabric of her jumper.

“Not so fast,” she says. Determined to not yield and let him get away with it, she reaches for his wrists in a forceless gesture for him to stop.

Instead of listening, he squeezes her breasts gently and silences her with another of his violent kisses. Hermione resists the temptation to sigh at his sweet touch. She won't comply again. She grips on his wrists angrily and tries to pull them away in earnest this time. They don't move an inch. He is stronger than her and squeezes his hands tighter, almost painfully. She squirms in an attempt to free herself and turns her head away from him.

“Malfoy! What do you think you are doing?” she shouts because she legitimately has no idea.

“Are you really that dumb?” he snorts in the smuggest of voices. “I am groping your tits,” he says. Patronizingly, as if she needed to be told. As if she really wasn't more than a silly bimbo.

“Well, stop it!” she barks. “Stop groping me. Stop touching me. Get away from me!”

She turns her head back to meet his piercing eyes, unafraid. The same eyes she wants to fall into and loose herself in. But she can't.

“Come on. You know you like being touched like that.”

He said it as if it was a fact. Worse, he said _you_ know, not _I_ know. Which means that is not even in question for him. To him it's as clear as the blue sky that she likes being handled like that, _she_ just needs to accept it. The clew of emotions in her chest tightens. There were so many of them in the last couple of minutes, right now she isn't able to pin any one of them down. All she knows is in this second they decide to whirl around in her like a thunderstorm, taking any semblance of control from her. It intimidates her, reminds her of how much stronger than her he actually is. Not that she is going to let that show in her actions.

“Yeah?” she hisses, venom dripping from her voice. “What do _you_ know about what I like?”

Her eyes burn into his, but his playful smile never falters. It makes her heart race with fury she can barely contain. How nice it would feel to hex him into humbleness right now. How rewarding it would be to see this sharp jaw clenching in shock. How satisfying to watch those unmoved eyebrows raise in something other than arrogant mockery.

Unaware of her thoughts, Draco leans down and brings his lips close to her ear. She can feel his hot breath and it sends a shiver down her neck. If from anticipation or disgust she cannot tell.

“I know everything about you,” he whispers. “The way you crave me. The way you suppress your moans whenever I touch you.”

The hairs on her neck get up at his words. They sound so true in her ears and she wants to believe them more than anything.

“You want me to be rough. You want to submit to it. Submit to someone. You can try fighting it but it's of no use. It's in your DNA. It belongs that way.”

Hermione struggles fighting back her tears. This is so wrong. She wanted to believe it. To fall into him. Now she just feels dumb and betrayed. He didn't even use the word mudblood and yet she can sense it lingering behind every single one of his moves. Her anger is gone. A deep, all-encompassing disillusionment takes its place.

She stares up to him. Her voice is steady and full of bitterness when she says, “In that case, you can kindly fuck off and wank yourself off.”

She draws her wand, flicks it, and Draco is pushed back forcefully, stumbling backwards into her apartment at least three long strides. Another flick of her wand and the door bangs open.

Draco winces back. Her magic is radiating so unrestricted from her now, it's almost visible. It's intimidating and strong and frightening and beautiful.

It's everything he wants her for. A wave of despair washes over him. What did he do? How could he have been so wrong when she was right in front of his eyes? What if he lost all of her, just in the wake of a stupid, stupid mistake?

Her magic pulses around her golden and threatening. Like a goddess, descending upon an erroneous mortal. That makes him remember his place. Without thinking Draco falls down to his knees.

Her head snaps back to him. No trace of mildness on her features. No sign of relief. Just weariness.

How could he have forgotten about who she really was? Who _he_ was compared with her? How could he possibly have doubted his place beneath her for one second?

It would be so easy if she would let him hold her down and pound into her. So easy to just believe in the stories his father told him about right and wrong and his place in the world. So easy to feed into the narrative. But that is against everything reality is screaming him in the face: she's a goddess, his goddess and he is nothing compared to her. It wouldn't work any other way.

Shame and fever bathe him cold and boiling hot in turn.

What if he destroyed it once and for all? What if she never forgives him? His carefully worked out facade completely forgotten, he tries talking, apologising, begging, anything. But he only produces pitiful stuttering.

“No- I-I... G-Grang-, I-I didn't... I never... Granger, p-please... please...”

He wants to crawl to her, to kneel at her feet, to kiss her calves, but he doesn't dare move an inch in her direction for fear of being hexed by her. She probably doesn't want him anywhere near her and that is his own fault. All he can do is sit there, a couple of meters apart from her, on the floor and pray for her forgiveness. For the second time that day he silently curses himself for being such an idiot.

Hermione gives him one long, last look and turns on her heel, strutting into her apartment without a second glance. The message is clear. Leave. The door is open. Leave and never come back. Draco's stomach turns at the realisation. He kneels, facing the wall opposite him, starstruck. He needs to do something. Fast. Or there won't be the tiniest of possibilities that she will make up her mind left.

He scrambles to his feet. He takes an uncertain step into the apartment. What if she gets angry? What if this will make it worse? He sweeps the doubts in his mind to the side in a practised manner and concentrates fully on his task: convincing her—somehow—that he deserves yet another chance. Which he doesn't, he knows that. But the thought of leaving now and forever is too painful to bear. He will instead choose the selfish, more convenient path once more, he thinks bitterly.

Hermione sits on the couch, a book in hands, her legs tugged underneath her. She stares at the page without understanding the words written on it. Her head is still swirling from what happened a few seconds ago. Then, she wasn't able to put a label on all of her confusing feelings. Now that they have settled down a bit, she starts to count them. Betrayal jumps to her mind immediately. Injustice. Disappointment in her own blindness. Of course that is nonsense, how could he have betrayed her if they never had any meaningful connection in the first place? Just because they had sex, they aren't in a relationship. The mere thought is absurd. Just because they had sex, he isn't a whole 'nother person all of a sudden. Just because of that damn, great, mind-boggling sex. It wasn't more. At least not to him, obviously. She decides to let that thought slip and resume inspecting her jumble of emotions. Disbelief, a lot of anger, self-pity, she discerns to her annoyance. Confusion at his sudden change at last. And hidden underneath all of that, hurt. Surprised, she notices how the last emotion swallows the rest of them up in a matter of seconds. She shouldn't be surprised of course. She should have known better. It was a safe bet that she would let herself fall too deep into this again. He matters too much to her after this little time. It's the reason why she couldn't move under his touch earlier. Why she wasn't able to simply say 'no'. Why she feared to loose herself in his eyes whenever they met hers. It were the jolts of pleasure he sent through her body when his lips met hers. And now she has to deal with the consequences of opening up too much. The pain of it being over. The unbidden memories of his pale skin on hers, his short breaths, his ruffled hair she couldn't stop tugging at-

“Granger,” Draco's low voice resonates through her bones.

She startles and looks up from her unread book. She thought she had been clear. She wanted him to leave. She wasn't prepared for this. Not prepared for facing Malfoy so soon. Even though he is standing a couple of meters apart from her.

 _To show me he is giving me as much space between us as I want_ , she realises. _Stop. Do not make this mistake again. You are reading too much into it._

He looks miserable, though. His head is bent down, his eyes fixed on the floor. _He left his shoes at the door_ , she notices. It makes him smaller somehow, more human, standing in the middle of her living room in a suit and only socks.

“Granger, I'm- I'm sorry,” his voice is shaky. Not in a holding-back-tears sort of way but as if he was fighting something deep within him while talking. As if fighting for every word to come out.

“I don't know what has gotten into me. I can't tell you how much I wish that didn't happen.”

“What? The part where I told you to take your hands off or the part when I had to send you flying back with _my_ _wand_ to get you off of me?!” Hermione snarls sarcastically.

“I don't- I-I...”

He searches for words but finds none. In this moment he doesn't look like Draco Malfoy anymore. His high and mighty posturing is gone, as is his sharp tongue. Right now, he just looks like a beaten dog.

Hermione averts her eyes, stunned. But it is already too late. Warm vines of compassion sling tightly around her aching heart. She can do nothing against it. It is in her nature to care when somebody is suffering. And Malfoy clearly is, if his complete change in character is anything to go by.

“Please,” he says faintly. “Please, I don't know what to do. I regret it so much. I will never do anything to hurt you again, I promise. I don't deserve it, but please don't send me away. I'm not asking you to do what you... what you planned for tonight. I'm not worth it. But don't send me away please. Let me prove I can better myself. Do whatever you want with me, I don't care. Punish me. Please, do whatever you need to do to forgive me. Please, punish me. Please.”

She wasn't prepared for this. Wasn't prepared for Draco Malfoy begging her to let him stay. Begging her to punish him. She swallows hard. Her heart sabotages the superhuman efforts of her brain to reason her way out of this. Because the logical part of herself spots a bad idea if it presents itself that obviously in front of her, with big eyes, soft, flawless lips, and high cheekbones. She feels as though she would die if she where to stay a second longer not touching his cheek, caressing his face, and telling him it is going to be okay. Her inability to resist him makes her fume mentally. He could have done anything to her. Here he comes crawling back, pleading for her punishment, and she falls for it anyway. Falling and knowing it is a mistake all the while. Falling too deep to return. It will hurt more next time. It is inevitable. But all she can think of, while she watches his knuckles turn white as he digs his fingernails into his palms, is her ridiculous notion of what tonight could have been.

_No. Not what it could have been. What it is going to be._

She holds onto her plan furiously. She will reward him, she will rule him, and she will make him feel so good he never wants anything else ever again.

The tension in the air is palpable. With each passing moment Draco's state gets worse. He chews on the inside of his lip, then swallows dryly. His adam's apple bobs.

“Strip."

Draco freezes. His eyes dart up. They are full of hope. Hermione shifts nervously on her couch. The command took even her by surprise. She feels like she has made a promise without intending to. A promise that she doesn't know whether she is able to keep. Her misgivings vanish when Draco reaches for his jacket tentatively. He lets the expensive, black piece slide off his shoulders and discards it on the floor. Without looking up, he reaches for the buttons of his equally black shirt. He undoes the first button, white skin glowing beneath it.

Hermione's heart thumps loudly. She has been waiting for this moment all week. Now it's finally happening, if not the way she planned it. She watches him comply, baring his body to her while staring intently at the floor next to him.

_What's going on in his head right now? Does it feel weird? Being the only one undressing and being watched? He doesn't look very uncomfortable though._

His long, slender fingers work on the buttons of his shirt efficiently, opening one after one, showing a glimpse of his pale chest and his abs. Draco lets the shirt drop from his arms. Smooth, white skin is revealed, spanning bony shoulders, strong arms and a hint of ribs. His abs are well defined. Not the sharp bodybuilder kind of abs but those that are formed by years of practice as a Quidditch seeker and maybe a bit too little calories. All in all he looks positively delicious. Hermione's mouth waters at the array of possibilities ahead of her. This body is hers for the next hours and she can choose exactly what she want to do with it.

Draco fidgets under her gaze. His hands dance along the waistband of his trousers. He quickly starts unbuckling his belt but Hermione can see the hesitation in his movements. Something occurs to her.

_He still thinks this is going to be a punishment. Of course he does! I just glared at him as if I was scheming his death and then told him to strip. If that isn't the telltale sign that very nasty SM stuff is about to happen, I didn't read Muggle erotica correctly. God, he must be imagining the worst scenarios right now. If I were to hex him, he couldn't even defend himself. His wand is in his jacket. And he still goes along with it. Oh lord, give me strength._

She decides not to tell him that she will drop the punishment. The thought of him submitting to the unknown pleases her immensely. And he deserves a little angsting over her intentions at least, if she's not going to punish him anyway.

Draco has finally finished with his belt and taken off his trousers and socks. His legs are long and covered with thin, blond hairs, but Hermione's attention is occupied elsewhere. Her hungry gaze zeroes on his pants, black and unwrinkled like the rest of his clothes. But as fashionable as they may be, they are in her way. Draco sees her wolfish expression and hurries to take them off. She catches him shooting her a sheepish glance.

_Is he self-conscious about his body?_

No. Hermione discards that explanation as fast as it came. He doesn't have anything to be ashamed of and he clearly knows that. He moves comfortably and with confidence. With his milky skin and aristocratic slenderness he could be considered prettier even than most girls. Not to mention the muscles on his upper arms and abdomen—as for things further downwards... Hermione shivers. No, it must be something else. Maybe it really does feel that weird to be the only one naked in the room. She is sitting on the couch, relaxed, watching him and he is standing some meters away, in the middle of the room, and undressing for her. Yeah, that's definitely what got him all shy and flustered. She imagines how observed he must feel, how exposed and on display. How he awaits his punishment. Dreading every word she is going to say and anticipating the thrill of it at the same time. Why like this? What does she need him naked for but not herself? Is she going to use magic? Will it hurt? Or rather _how_ _much_ will it hurt?

Hermione bites her lip, examining his body closely one last time before shifting into a more comfortable position, her legs tucked up flat against the couch, opened wide. She tucks her right foot under her left thigh, carefully places her book besides her, and pats the space between her legs.

“Come here and sit down,” she says in a gentle voice.

She couldn't bear scaring him even more by being harsh. It seems to work. Malfoy untenses a bit, although his posture remains perfectly rigid and the wary look stays on his face. He saunters towards her lazily until he towers over her like the stature of a Greek god. Hermione can't help but admire the smooth planes of his stomach, the rounded shapes, the way they flex slightly when he moves.

“You done drooling?” a presumptuous voice wrenches her out of her daydreaming.

When she manages to tear her gaze away from the absorbing sight in front of her and look into his face, an amused grin plays over his features. Hermione knows this grin too well.

_Back to normal then, I guess. I wonder what will happen if..._

“Hmm...” she pretends to ponder his question for a second. “Am I done? I don't think so. Not yet.”

She leans forward and watches with satisfaction how it wipes the posh grin off his face, just like she hoped it would.

_If you expected me to get embarrassed or mad at you, well sorry to disappoint. This is not how things are going to work._

She looks him deep into the eyes as she brings her lips close to his stomach, careful not to touch him in any way. With the most innocent expression she can summon, she presses a long, soft kiss on the outline of his abs. Draco's brows raise as her lips brush against his skin for the first time and his abs twitch. He breaks their eye contact and looks away. Something hard presses into Hermione's breast and a blush creeps on Draco's face.

Oh, how adorable. He is ashamed at how strongly he reacts to her every move.

_Why does he have to be so hot when he is flustered?_

Hermione pushes her nose against his soft skin and inhales his scent deeply. She doesn't think she can ever get enough of him. Her cheek rubs against his muscles and she sighs, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

She can sense the muscles on his stomach contract.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

His tone changed, nothing like the cocky sneer from earlier.

_**I** did this to him. Not so untouchable anymore, huh? This is more like my taste._

The way he stumbles over the words is so uncharacteristic for him, it takes her a second to grasp their meaning. He sounds alarmed. Even tough he hides it pretty well, he obviously is nervous about what she has in mind. As far as he knows it could be anything from a good old kick in the balls to methods of magical torture so advanced that he hasn't even heard about them. Both certainly conceivable, given that it is Hermione—no-respect-for-the-resticted-section—Granger we are talking about here.

Hermione draws away, putting on her kind, mellow countenance from before again.

“Let me show you,” she says and pats the couch between her legs once more.

Draco obliges and sits down at the edge of the couch. Too far for Hermione's taste. She wants to pull him into her, press her lips against his and wrap herself around him. But she also wants to take it slow. To savour the moment. It won't come back soon. Maybe never at all. She settles for lightly brushing her fingertips along his arms and up to his shoulders. Draco remains still. Conspicuously still. When she reaches the sides of his neck, gooseflesh appears where her fingers touch him. She smiles triumphantly. He can play unaffected and indifferent for as long as he likes, he can't fool her. She knows him too well. Not long and she will have him exactly where she wants him.

Surprised she notes, that her fingers have wandered to the front of his neck thoughtlessly. She lets them rest them there, letting the temptation sink in. She doesn't know where that obsession with his throat came from. She never felt it with any of her other partners—but then again, what about their relationship isn't unlike any past experience she ever had? Her hand on his throat feels inexplicably good. It's as though it's meant to be there, as though every place she touches him leads her hands inevitably to find this most threatening of places. It shoots through her veins like heroin and it takes her a moment to understand. This is what power feels like.

She gives in when the pull in her chest becomes too great and increases the pressure on his neck to shove him into her. His back is pressed against her warm, soft curves and his head is yanked back. Suddenly, she has a clear view on his face. It takes him too long to flatten his expression. Just the fraction of a second but it's enough for Hermione. His eyes are half-closed, his lips parted. Desire is written all over the handsome features of his face. Her grip doesn't loosen. She shall be doomed if she lets him slip out of this wonderful position. His naked body leans against her clothed one, his bodily warmth seeping through her thick jumper, his head next to hers on eyelevel. She has an unobstructed view on his body stretched out in front of her. Hers to take. Is this a dream? It's all so free and sumptuous it seems too good to be true. She can't believe how lucky she is. She plants kisses next to his ear, where some strands of his peroxide blonde hair meet his jaw.

“This is so right,” she whispers into his ear. “I can't believe you let me do this to you. I love it, you know? You, all sprawled out for me, laying in my arms, not resisting. Not wanting so resist.” She sighs, trailing off. “It makes me want to treat you so sweet yet so rough at the same time.”

A choked sound escaped Draco's throat. He looks like he regrets it immediately. He looks like he is absolutely, undoubtably, 100% aware of his own state. Of how good her view is right now. What an exposed and available impression he must make. Hermione dwells on it just a bit longer. She revels in his embarrassment and fear of her punishment and doesn't want to let go.

“It does things to me, do you know that Draco? Seeing that broad chest, hard muscles, touching your strong body. Imagining all the things I could do to it. Certain that you could take it all, that you _would_ take it all, but knowing all the while how your lovely mind would suffer. I couldn't break your body no matter how hard I tried but inside of it you would break like a twig.” She breathes heavily. “You are so freakishly delicate. Is it wrong that I want that so bloody bad? That I want to hurt you like that?”

She used his first name and it seems to wake something in him again that had safely gone to a peaceful slumber.

“I'm not delicate,” he presses out.

She just hums into the skin next to his ear. Her left hand sneaks up his thigh from where it lay on the couch uselessly. She can feel him hold his breath as her fingers approach his now rock-hard cock. Hermione has to admit to herself, it's a sight to behold. It's big, not slender like the rest of his body, slightly curved and assumes a soft, rosy colour towards the tip. Not one hair is allowed to hide the smooth skin at the base or leave room for any ambiguity about his length.

 _Figures. Such a pretty boy_ , Hermione sighs mentally but without the hint of regret.

The instant before her hand reaches its destination, however, she alters the course and her fingers brush past as if never having headed any other way. Draco's breath hitches, only to be let out in a sharp exhale when Hermione doesn't do what he expected. Instead, she lets her fingertips brush against his lower abdomen purposefully, earning a violent shudder going through his body. It injects a small dose of addictive power right into her veins. She presses her lips to his earlobe again and again while brushing his abs in the most tentative manner possible. How could she stop when those precious, involuntary shudders go through him just because of her?

“ _Please,_ ” he begs. His voice is hoarse, nothing like the familiar cool snarl from minutes ago.

“Please what?” Hermione purrs into his ear.

He swallows.

“Please punish me.”

Hermione whimpers uncontrolledly. It took her by surprise. She was just going to take his gorgeous cock into her hand and reward him and tell him how good he has been and he asks her to- to... She thought he could guess her intentions by now. Well, clearly she was wrong and it makes her so incredibly horny to know what he thought she was about to do. What he _wanted_ her to do. _Asked_ her to do. She nearly feels obliged to give to him what he requested, but then the idea of rewarding him still crosses her mind and wipes out any other option in her head.

“Punish you?” she breathes. “Why would you want that?”

“Because you- you... need to teach me a lesson. To trust me again.” Draco guesses confusedly.

“It sounds so good when you say that. Remind me of why you need to be taught a lesson today, will you?”

Hermione's hand travels down his abdomen once more, eliciting the purest shudders in the muscles under his skin.

“I- I was bad. I let you down and that can't ever happen again. Please make sure I won't mess up again. Please punish me.”

He clearly thinks she wants to draw this out. To make him ask for it, declare his defeat, and spell it out loud for her on top. And he would comply with that.

_What will he do when he realises that my intentions are actually the total opposite?_

Hermione's fingers finally find Draco's cock. But she doesn't want to give up just yet. Let him figure it out on his own. He just needs a little nudge.

“How could I say no when you are asking that nicely? But you can ask for more than that, you know?”

Her fingers brush against his cock as light as a feather.

“What- what should I ask for? Please tell me. I don't- I don't understand. Please...”

“You could ask for this,” Hermione says, barely above a whisper as she wraps her hand around his cock for the first time.

“Wh-What are you doing? I- I-”

“Or for this.”

She slowly moves her hand up and down.

“ _Oh,_ ” is the only sound he manages to make.

“You were being so good earlier today. How would you like it if-”

“No- no,” Draco says hoarsely. “Y-You have to punish me. I was bad...”

“Shh. It's okay, I forgive you. Don't worry about anything right now,” Hermione soothes, as she strokes him gently.

If she thought that was going to reassure him, she was wrong.

“No- I was- I was bad, please. I don't deserve this.”

His eyebrows raise and twist at the same time in an unnatural manner. His clenched jaw and stiff body speak of full concentration. Confusion muddles Hermione's neatly organised mind. It's incredibly unlike Draco to talk like this. It doesn't fit in with anything she thought she knew about him. In her disorientated state she can do nothing but guess how she should react and hope for the best.

“Relax, it's okay. You are okay,” she whispers without stopping her hand movements.

“It's- I- you- need- to-” Draco is grasping for words, but they keep on slipping from him as Hermione touches him more firmly.

“Sorry,” she sighs because she is genuinely sorry for not being able to help him better. For being too damn self-absorbed to stop this heavenly mess that is Draco in front of her from unfolding.

“Please- please, no...”

“Sorry, sorry,” she repeats it over and over like a mantra while meaning it less and less. Too much space in her head is taken up by Draco, twitching and pleading in her arms.

It hits her when her eyes meet his, wide open and full of terror. It's inexplicably, sublimely twisted to have him beg her like that to stop rewarding him. To apologise to him for not punishing him. She doesn't want to stop. She doesn't understand it but she knows it makes her horny as hell.

Draco's babbling protests have subsided and made way for soft, powerless moans, that make Hermione's muscles go weak and her insides turn liquid. How can this man make those sounds for _her_? How can such a view be for _her_? How can such a strong, perfect body be leaning into _her_? She finally recalls that she possesses two hands and runs her second one all over the white skin of his chest and stomach.

“This is mine now,” she growls into his ear. “This body belongs to me. Nobody else.”

“Yours,” Draco whines, arching into her touch.

She is surprised at her own, sudden possessiveness, but not nearly as surprised as she is about his complete and utter compliance with it. When did he get this comfortable with his own neediness? His desire to be in good hands, to be held, to belong?

_I wonder how far I can take this._

Hermione knows, deep down, that she shouldn't. She should be content with what she has—it's more than she ever dared dreaming for after all. There's no point risking this. But her curiosity has always had a nemesis against her.

“That's right. You are mine. Now, will you let me reward you without a fuss and take it like a good boy?”

“Yes.”

 _Yes_. He said yes. The swirl of emotion in the pit of Hermione's stomach bubbles. Her right hand curls around his torso and pulls him into her. She buries her face in the softness that is his hair. He is so close to her that their whole bodies touch and still she feels like it is not nearly close enough. She wants to exist in his all-consuming presence forever, breath in this exquisite scent and never surface again. And the only way she bloody dares sharing her feelings is through casually stroking his dick while slowly sinking into his being through his neck.

“Thank you.”

 _Thank you_. The words echo inside her head. He thanked her. Without any need for it. Hermione un-buries her face from his hair and rests her chin on his shoulder. The view is so tempting, as soon as she takes it in she doesn't stand a chance. _Exquisite_ is the best word she can come up with for it. Her right hand trails over Draco's lean body. The defined, almost geometric muscles of his abdomen don't fail her. They contract underneath her barely-there touch. Next, her fingers glide over his chest, which is sleek and white like marble. Hermione can't help herself. Her hips move as if they have a mind of their own and grind her wet core against Draco's lush body. A small moan falls from her mouth directly into his ear and he freezes. He still hasn't turned his head to her an inch but she can guess from the way his long lashes move up that his eyes have widened in astonishment.

_Does that mean that he just now comprehended how much I like all this? Or, dare I assume, comprehended that I like this at all? Did he think rewarding him was no fun for me? That seeing him come undone in my arms hopelessly doesn't do things to me? Oh god, please let it be true. Please let me corrupt this pristine hoard of pureness. This is better than I could ever have imagined._

She happily confirms his suspicion—if he ever had one—by rubbing herself against him more, seeking that tiny bit of friction their position allows for as her right hand strokes across his toned chest tirelessly. It feels dirty, like using his body for her own, selfish purposes, and in a way that is precisely what she is doing. He even asked her to stop earlier and she just brushed it off with a few “Sorry”s. The readiness of her pussy becomes unbearable at that thought but she reminds herself of what she set out to do. With a regretful sigh she straightens up and focuses on her objective: making Draco loose every last grip on reality with pleasure. Her half-forgotten hand on his cock picks up the pace. She gathers the drops of precome at its tip and uses them as lube for sliding her hand all the way up and down his length. She decides to tear her gaze away from his cock and watch him instead. It's well worth the effort although the angle isn't perfect. His reaction is priceless. Draco's lips are parted, panting for breath. His cheeks are flushed pink. The same colour as the small nipples on his chest she notices. Her eyes get caught. She reaches out and touches them gently. If Draco perceives it despite his light haze, he doesn't show it. She lays her hand flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, counting his unsteady breaths. Her middle and index fingers lie atop his nipple. She starts running them back and forth gently before squeezing them together and rubbing more intently, capturing his nipple in the process. Draco's face contorts with pleasure, his brows raise and he _whimpers_. Hermione almost joins in. The sound of it is too good.

“Oh, baby,” she moans.

The words escape her lips before she can stop them. _Baby._ It felt so good to call him that. She has wanted to do it for a long time. And now it just slipped.

_How could one blame me? Who would have thought that me touching his nipples was going to render him this responsive?_

Draco's head finally turns towards her. For a second Hermione thinks it's over now. He will wake like from a hazy afternoon nap, frown that infuriating frown at her and tell her that she messed it up. That he will leave immediately and tell her to never call him again. But when her brain is finished processing the sight of him facing her, she only sees need and—for some reason—awe written in his eyes looking up to her. She knows in that instant that she said the right thing. It seems like their eye contact becomes too much for Draco for he averts his eyes. However, instead of pulling away, he leans closer and burrows his face in her neck.

“Hermione.”

The sound of her name is muffled through her neck, but she heard it without a doubt. Her heart jumps. His voice is deep like his usual self, not that high-pitched tune he assumed when protesting against her not punishing him. It makes her realise hard that this is Draco. The situation somehow becomes less and more surreal at the same time. Draco fucking Malfoy. In her arms. Naked. The one person she considered unattainable for years. The one person who was in fact unapproachable for as long as she can remember. And the person who is currently aching for her every touch, whining long, sorrowful cries into the base of her neck.

Hermione wants to make this right. Despite the absurd sounds she coaxes from Draco's lips right in this moment, she doesn't feel like she is doing nearly enough. Like she could be doing better. Irrational longings in her take over.

 _How could this possibly be better?_ she would ask if her brain wasn't muddled with incoherence and desire. _What more could I wish for?_

 _Well, you could at least be using lube_ , a very unfavourable part of her brain supplies. _How didn't you think of this earlier? Smartest witch of her age my arse..._

Internally flinching at her dumbness, she draws her wand hurriedly. Deep down she knows that it's nonsensical to put herself down like that. It's just that she is unable to comprehend, at the moment, that Draco Malfoy should really want _her_. That he wants _this_ and that he won't turn to air the next second. That's why she falls indefensibly deep into her primitive mind and bathes in the rush of exerting the tiniest bit more control over him by casting a whispered charm.

“Lubrico.”

Her hand around his cock becomes warm and slippery immediately. Draco groans pitifully, obviously overwhelmed with everything. Hermione gains confidence and gives him an experimental stroke with the new lube making her hand glide along his cock way easier. Draco makes muffled sounds and his hips jerk upwards to meet her hand in a manner that seems almost accidental. Hermione takes it as an encouragement and goes on to spread the lube evenly across his whole length, making sure not to miss a single spot. Draco shoves his head even further into her neck to the point where his nose is practically buried in it, but she contentedly ascertains she can hear him moaning nevertheless.

Then it hits her.

_Is he actively trying to suppress it? Doesn't he want to make those cute, helpless, hot, ungodly sounds? Is he embarrassed?_

She can't pinpoint why, but she is thrilled at the revelation. An evil thought crosses her mind. It confuses but also—more importantly—excites her.

“Be quiet for me,” she whispers in a fond voice. “Baby,” she adds, hoping not to take it too far.

As if to counter her own words the pace of her hand on his cock increases, making wet sounds all the while. Her right hand is stroking along his side soothingly.

The whining dies down instantaneously and is replaced by stifled moans.

“Shhh,” she coos, sending shocks straight to her own core.

She would never have believed how much she could get turned on by treating Draco like a 10-year-old before trying it. Better even, Draco who doesn't object but accepts his role. His hands claw into the fabric of the sofa next to his thighs and the knuckles turn white. How she loves that colour, paler than his already pale skin. She runs her right hand over his, tracing the sharp lining of the elegant bones of his hand. This, combined with the fact that it distracts her from the main task at hand, seems to soothe Draco, calming down his desperate moans somewhat, but it also plants an idea in her head. Her left hand picks up the speed on jerking him off again and her right hand shoots up to Draco's chest. Listening to his suppressed sounds with a smile, she runs her fingers slightly back and forth over his nipple, then rubs more firmly. Draco gives off a quiet sob.

“Shsshh... it's fine,” Hermione whispers and soothes the non-existant sting with light pats. For a brief second she wonders whether she should let it go now, proceed to get him off, and never mention it again. But who is she kidding? She has already been pulled to deep into the rabbit hole that is her own dirty cravings.

“You are doing so well,” she praises instead, speaking lowly into his baby soft hair. “You wanna be a good boy?”.

Her hand works on his cock zealously, like an encouragement.

Incapable of answering that kind of question—or any kind of question under these conditions, really—Draco whines. Again, Hermione can't believe how lucky she is. This beautiful sound, just for her. Just what she _hoped_ _for_.

“Shut up!” she snaps.

His eyes water. They look at her, big and round. She doesn't even need to guess what is going on in that beaten, broken head of his. She reads it from his eyes like a book's title from the cover. His blue eyes shout out betrayal and hurt, while still grasping for her like a drowning man for a plank in an ocean of solitude. It is then, Hermione understands some essential puzzle of him.

“Now moan for me baby,” she purrs, undoing all the damage she's done and more. Showing him his trust didn't stab him in the back for once.

Draco's eyes bore deeper into hers if that is even possible, holding on to her. The sounds he suppressed previously escape from his throat untrammelled. Hermione presses a kiss to his cheek, closely under his lower lashes. He closes his eyes and the sounds culminate in hiccupy whimpers.

_I like this. Oh, how much I do. How could I miss out on this for so long?_

Draco tilts his head to the side and burrows his face in Hermione's neck. Her scent envelopes him like light blankets, and summer midnights and a meadow's dew in the evening. He breathes her like his life depends on it, needs it like the oxygen in the air or perhaps more.

Hermione listens to his panting, watches him press against her, not missing a single reaction she triggers in him. Nothing else in the world counts. She can't be distracted by anything. Not when this moment is so brief, so fleeting, so fragile. Having him lie in her arms like this—his chest rising and falling in short intervals, his sensations hers to play with, his hands gripping the blankets next to him helplessly—it does things to her. She just wants to care for him, and love him, and give him all the happiness in the world. Her hand on his chest runs from his nipple over the exposed skin of his torso to his neck and into his fair hair. Her heart aches a little when he leans into her touch, wanting everything she gives him, needing it, needing her.

“Shh, I got you. Don't worry about anything right now. Trust me,” she wants to say.

But she doesn't. The thoughts about what she just found out are holding her back. His reaction to her wicket, little experiment.

“You want me to punish you, don't you?”

_His little flinch when she snapped at him. The way he looked at her, reminding her of a wounded animal._

“You think that you deserve it, that it will help you do better,” she whispers to him.

_His ice-cold eyes melting like glaciers._

“It's all you've ever known. Your parents only wanted what was best for you, didn't they?”

“Don't act like you understand me,” Draco says, finding his voice back.

His body went rigid and he doesn't look at her. But she doesn't need him to. She can see his eyes in front of her clearly.

_Those horrified eyes, the accusation of malice and deceit in them. No astonishment, just hurt. Clinging onto her nevertheless._

“Your mum only wanted the best for you, yes?”

_His expression. As if loving the pain, loving her even more for letting him down. Craving her care but not bearing being loved that way at the same time._

“Don't you dare say a bad word about my mum. You don't know her. You don't know me.”

But it's true. She figured him out. Read into him and solved him like the ancient runes she can coax the meaning out of with the ease of a Leviosa spell.

“It's okay, Draco.”

She runs her fingers through his hair.

“It's okay.”

He can't have the nice and easy, healthy relationship, the privilege of normal people. He needs that craving kind of love. Always seeking the safe and comforting kind of warmth but never reaching it. It's what he's learned. Love is disguised in hate.

_Will he ever be able to love differently?_

When he remains silent, she tries again.

“Do you need this to be dysfunctional? Do you need someone to be strict on you? Someone to shut you up and distort what we have with contempt and indifference? I can be that for you.”

That breaks him down.

“Please, yes. Be as controlling and as demanding as you wish. Punish me whenever you like to. Please. You have me.”

“Why?”

“It's what's best for me.”

“Yes,” Hermione concedes. “I just want the best for you.”

And nonwithstanding the doubts nagging at her, she pulls him into her, kisses the top of his head and continues wanking him as if nothing had happened. She strokes through his soft, short hair, ruining his immaculate, kempt appearance, but she doesn't care. And neither does he, judging from the way his expression relaxes. She watches him attentively while slowly stroking with her delicate fingers wrapped around his length tightly. She sees how his eyes flutter close. He looks peaceful with his closed eyes, long, blonde lashes, relaxed features.

But since their little talk in the midst of everything, there is also something else. Impalpable, at first, but unrelentingly creeping all over of his handsome face and intruding on their uncharacteristic state of ease. Some emotion, too complex to put into one word, which threatens to banish the beautiful things she sees reflected on his face. Hermione curses inwardly. Why did she have to bring it up? Why remind him of some traumatic experience in the past when they could be happy in the now? Worry, as all-encompassing as heavy air in a thunderstorm, spreads in her stomach. Did she cause him to go back there?

Then, Draco opens his eyes and Hermione's gaze is met with sheer defencelessness. It virtually pours out of his big, crystalline eyes. Her hand on his still incredibly hard dick slows down. Her other hand immediately retreats from Draco's hair and she places it on his cheek instead, brushing the prominent cheekbone with her fingertips. She has the overwhelming urge to comfort him, to make it go away.

"Oh, baby... baby, what is wrong? What can I do for you? Is something not okay? Is it that I messed up? I'm so stupid for forcing you to talk about it. Tell me, what can I do to make it up to you? What do you need?"

She restrains herself from planting kisses all over the angular planes of his cheek and forehead and on his lips, seeing as this wouldn't be helpful right now. Maybe he wouldn't want her close right now. She tries to read the perplexing signs on his face. His sweet, red lips still parted to suck in as much air as possible. His brows still raised as if to plead her for something she can't decipher but there is a slight wrinkle appearing between them. And those eyes, holding onto her for dear life, give away more than the rest of him ever could. Before Hermione can begin to understand what caused him to pull out of the intoxicating loss of control she inflicts on him, he tilts his head up and presses his lips against hers. Hermione doesn't resist, she would kiss him every minute of the day if given the possibility. It's a relief. He still wants her close to him.

Her hand wraps around his length again and she continues with slow, decisive strokes. Draco moans into her mouth and resumes kissing her desperately and it's then she has a second revelation. There is nothing wrong with what they have. He enjoys her affection, and her attentiveness, and her control. He enjoys it so much, he is afraid of it. His deeply entrenched façade of a Malfoy won't let him.

It's been labourious. Years of growing up in the cold house of his parents, years of rules, of denial, and sitting straight at dinner and discipline and showing no emotions to those who are closest to him made him who he is today. Detached, controlled. And she asks him to let all of this go so easily. Years that taught him not to show vulnerability, not to let his guard down, not to love. If it were not for the lessons he learned back then, he wouldn't be here today.

What he is asking for is assurance, his assertion that they are still equals, that they share a kiss on eye level and she wants him just the same. If he is vulnerable to her, she will have to be for him.

Hermione wants to soothe every single one of his worries that he can't communicate in their kiss. Through the way their lips move against each other and her tongue caresses his she tells him more about the sort of her feelings than words ever could.

When they part, she stares into his infinite eyes. Her hand on his cheek caresses his soft skin. Draco's previously tidy hair is ruffled and his lips are swollen and parted, unable to hold his tiny whines back. He looks gorgeous like this, all yearning and helpless.

She almost knows that the thing he desires most from her—whether knowingly or not—is not her hand around his cock, or her fingers all over his body, or even her lips on his. It's her praise he craves most of all and she doesn't even care where this overwhelming certainty is coming from all of a sudden. She will give him what his eyes are silently pleading for.

"I want you so much," she whispers in his ear and nips on it gently.

"You make me so dizzy when you look like this, all ruffled and hard and helplessly at my mercy. And when you make those sounds—oh god. It's as though you are in control over me even though it should be the other way round. My brain stops making sense when I look at you like this."

The response is immediate. Draco's eyes widen, still locked to hers and his brows raise in a pained expression.

“You are so pretty and so, so weak. So goddamn hot. I want to ravish you and your tender lips and ridiculous abs and beautiful, innocent mind. It's like I made you in a computer.”

Hermione's hand on his cheek travels lower.

“You are so perfect. Your soft throat makes me lose my sanity.”

Draco arches into her touch on his cock and a sound slips from his lips like he is dying. Hermione does nothing to speed up her slow movements. She wonders whether it might be too much for him to take, if she has been too generous with her praise. For him praise is invariably associated with pain. But she cannot give him that. Anything but that.

She lowers her head to his and gently takes his earlobe between her teeth, careful not to hurt him. Her hand keeps its teasing pace as she lightly bites the sensitive flesh. Draco whimpers into her neck. He is lost in the moment, in the pleasure, in the goodness of it all. In arms enveloping him, in being taken care of, in her.

He moans and it sends a shock straight to her heart. She knows he is close, unbearably close. But she won't speed up her hand on him. The way he writhes under her touch, naked against her clothed frame, longing for more, is too delicious to watch.

“You were being so good earlier,” she purrs into his reddened ear.

“Three favours in one day... I was starting to think I could demand anything from you and you wouldn't say no. You made me very proud of you.”

She strokes his slick tip with her thumb affectionately.

“You know how to behave to get what you want, don't you?”

“Yes,” he pants.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hermione sighs, “You really wanted this, didn't you? Tell me, would you have done anything to please me? If I asked you to free all your elves and do your own laundry? Would you have denied me?”

“No,” he whines and it is Hermione's turn to moan in defeat.

It turns her on beyond what is healthy to imagine him washing clothes, cooking dinner and doing other mundane household chores.

“I had you right were I wanted you, didn't I? Tell me, go ahead. I want to hear it.”

“Yes,” he rasps, too dizzy to talk back.

She places small kisses on his earlobe, simply because it happens to be within her reach. Her hot breath against his sensitive skin triggers tiny shivers to go down his neck. In an instant, it becomes all too much for him.

"Please," Draco says faintly and without any more words she knows exactly what he asks her to do.

It makes her feel guilty not to grant him a wish she could fulfil that easily. She isn't giving him what he needs despite being completely conscious of it. To the point where he begs for it. Hermione's heart gives in. She shouldn't be that egoistic. This is his reward after all.

Her hand wraps tightly around the base of his cock. She would do anything not to disappoint the hopeful glimmer that sparked in his eyes. And her head is having some fairly specific ideas about how she could go about doing this.

Her hand begins jerking him more resolutely, drawing a long whimper of relief from Draco's mouth. Her other hand travels from his ruffled hair over his cheek to his throat. She lets it rest there briefly, on the tender skin around his adams apple, before she grabs his throat and tilts his head back forcefully.

A choked sound escapes Draco's swollen lips and she feels him swallow heavily against her strong grip. His eyes widen in shock and the hurtful look in them returns. Like a call for help. Betrayed, yet somehow twistedly thankful it burns into her heart like a hot knife.

Her hand on his cock never slows down as she lowers her head and plants wet kisses along his jaw. All of his defences have ultimately crumbled down. He is a hot, writhing mess in her arms. He moans lowly when Hermione sucks on the sharp line close to his ear, where his angular jaw meets his soft neck.

“H-Hermione”

She pulls away and studies his face for the gazillionth time. Holding him like that yields a perfect view on his face. The pink on his flushed cheeks, the fringe that fell into his eyes unnoticed, the wonderful arch of his eyebrows. She drinks in the blue of his eyes. She doesn't know whether her thirst for him can ever be satisfied. She wants to find out, wants him to stay like this forever, hers to kiss and touch and obey.

“Thank you,” she breathes into his ear. “For letting me do this to you. I can't tell you how much it means to me. That you trust me. I would never hurt you. I hope you know that. Who do you belong to, baby?”

“You”

Hermione hums and kisses all over his cheeks. “Yes”, “Yes, exactly right”.

She lowers her lips to his.

“Whose are these lips?”

They kiss. Soft and sweet. Her fingers tease his cock mercilessly.

“Whose is this cock? Whose is this frail, frail bare throat?”

Her grip around his neck tightens.

“Yours,” Draco says weakly.

“Good boy,” she moans, watching him clench his jaw. “You like it when I call you that, don't you?”

“N-No!”

“Don't be scared. You can admit it, honey. I can see it when I say those words.”

His lips remain pressed together firmly. She smiles.

“Oh please, please, please be a _good boy_ for me, Draco.”

Never mind his previous attitude, his eyes close for a moment and keening sounds leave his throat. If she had been dumb and blind, she would've known. It couldn't be any more obvious.

“So you don't like it then?”

Again, silence.

“Fine, I guess then I will just forget about it and never call you a-”

“No, no! I didn't mean that. I-I...”

She raises an eyebrow at him, giant butterflies and fireworks celebrating her victory internally.

“I uhm... I want to be a-a-”

“A what?”

“a... good boy.”

“Oh, yes. You are such a good boy. So, so very good, baby. Did you want to make me proud? I am. I am so proud of you,” Hermione babbles drunken of him and his strange purity.

Her hand on his cock suddenly lets go of him. Instead, she brushes her fingertips against his sensitive, pink tip languidly. Draco lets out an unconscious hiss and his head in her grip twitches uncomfortably. The fingers of her right hand dig into the soft flesh of his throat. Both of his hands shoot up, but halt abruptly when his fingers touch her arm and hover there uselessly. He would have the strength needed but he makes no attempt at freeing himself from her death grip.

_He wants it. He wants this. Me, taking what I want from him. Like he wants everything if I want it. Shit, I could get used to this. I feel like a queen. No, not like a queen... like a goddess._

“Do you like being my toy?” she says with the sugary-sweetest voice she ever heard herself use.

“Yes”

_Oh god, I bet he would agree to everything I say right now. I made him be so pliant and docile. Tame._

Draco shifts in front of her and groans in frustration.

“Did you need something, darling?”

She expects him to get petty at this anew but his answer catches her off-guard.

“T-Touch me. Would you... maybe...”

He lowers his gaze.

“Hmm... You know, good boys are well-behaved and ask nicely...”

“P-Please”

“Are you close?” she asks, lightly brushing her fingertips over the head of his cock. “Do you want me to release you?”

“Y-Yes”

“Then you will have to do better than this.”

“Please, please touch me,” Draco whines and writhes in her hands, “I will do everything, I will be a good boy. Please... I can't take it anymore.”

She can't help but smile at his willingness.

“You did so well, baby boy.”

She feels a shudder go down his spine at her words.

“This is your reward. I want you to enjoy it, can you do that?”

Her hand quits teasing his tip and returns to stroking him firmly, but faster this time. She watches Draco's expression shift from borderline agony to pure bliss within a second and his eyes close. His hands fall back to grab the fabric of the sofa next to him desperately.

“Yes... Thank you,” he croaks. “Thank you... thank you.”

He sobs uncontrollably. Hermione feels the urgent need to resume planting kisses on his exposed jaw. Not caring about the little, high-pitched cry he utters, her hold on his head doesn't loosen a bit.

“Hermione...”

She sucks and bites down on his skin as he lets out these heavenly sounds of his and then his whole body shakes in her embrace and he comes sobbing “Hermione” one last time.

She takes in everything, from the tremble in his voice when he says her name to the way his mucles tense and his abs twitch afterwards.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers into his ear as he quivers and keens in her arms.

Spurts of white land on her hand and all over his toned stomach and chest. She watches all of it patiently, whispering loving affirmations into his ear. His hard breathing gradually becomes slower. The thick drops run down his chest, white against his pale skin, milk on milk. Hermione travels her left hand up his abdomen and gathers them on her fingertips.

It's quiet now that her living room isn't filled with Draco's moans and panting anymore. Hermione's fingers trail wet, random patterns over his smooth abs. His elegantly curved lashes flutter open and he looks at her with glazed over eyes. She can already observe the character and wit behind them revive.

A small sound tumbles from her lips before she can stop it and her gaze drops to his abs. All of her fingers are busy running over his abs now, spreading his cum all over them and massaging it into his skin. Draco's muscles twitch once more under her touch and he releases a shaky breath.

Hermione strokes them gently before going further up. Her sticky hand rubs against his chest and leaves a white stain across his nipple. Hermione moans. She wants him to know how hot he is like this. How much it turns her on.

She doesn't know why but she is a little insecure now, that she did all of this to him and he is coming back to his senses.

_Is it that he was in a haze during most of it while I was fully conscious the whole time? Yeah, that's probably it. What if he's different now. I mean, what if he wasn't fully himself then? What if he thinks I'm weird?_

Her gaze flickers between his chest and eyes once, then return to his eyes. She was completely wrong. Draco looks at her in wonder and awe and, and... fear? His head is still tilted back by her grip.

_Of course he is! How blind can I be? I'm not the one who should worry that I came across as weird, he fears I might think that of him!_

She finally lets go of his neck and places her hand on his cheek. Instead of trying to find words, she does the first thing that comes to her mind and presses her lips to his. He reciprocates her kiss gratefully. They are as soft and unhurried with each other as two people can be. Like they have all the time in the world. Like they have a whole life together in front of them and no need to rush. Hermione caresses his tongue with hers and lightly brushes his fringe out of his face. It is a perfect moment. When it ends, they stare into each others eyes until she kisses him on the forehead and he nuzzles her neck. They stay like this for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I wrote until the end ever (no discipline whoop). Thoughts, suggestions etc. in the comments encouraged!
> 
> I mainly wrote it for the feelies in this. The dynamic between Draco/Hermione has me weak (duh). It that a even thing? Reading smut for the FEELS in it??
> 
> Also if I may be a little selfish for a minute: If you've read the story until here, you probably enjoy the same kind of stuff (KINKY stuff :)) i do so maybe you'd consider dropping a PM if you can recommend anything similar. Whatever, be aware, every single one of you is much appreciated!
> 
> Cheers, Luise


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